Tells
by leoandsnake
Summary: Iceman likes the multiplication tables because they're simple. He likes Maverick for an entirely different reason. Slash, around 6,000 words.


_A/N: Ahhh, this is long. And kind of weird. Not my normal style, definitely. But I love the dynamics of the characters. And the whole Iceman-acting-weird is a little bit ganked from wild-sunshine's fic and adapted to fit my personal Iceman and this story.  
_

"Ice, you're a son of a bitch," Hollywood told him frankly.

They were playing poker, the six of them, Hollywood, Wolfman, Chipper, Sundown, Iceman and Slider.

"I think that's what they call a fatal character flaw," he said, rubbing his nose.

Sundown fiddled with his cards. "What's a straight again?" he whispered audibly to Chipper.

Chipper took a drag off his cigarette and looked at Sundown's cards. "Not what you have."

"I thought I was an unfeeling bastard," Iceman said. He played with one of his chips. "I call."

"That too," Hollywood said. He glanced at Slider, the dealer. "Ah, shit. What do you got, Ice?"

"What do you think?"

Hollywood looked at the flop, which was a seven, a queen, and a two. "I think you got nothing."

"Well, that's your prerogative," Ice said, taking a sip of his whiskey sour.

"I'm all in," Hollywood said, sliding his chips forward.

Ice just looked at him.

"Orrrrrr maybe not," Hollywood said, pulling them back.

"Hey, you can't do that," Slider complained.

"Why not?" Hollywood argued, "My hands never stopped touching them."

"That's chess, you nimrod," Wolfman said.

"Yeah, and chess is for pussies," Chipper chimed in.

"I like chess," Iceman said simply.

Everyone turned and looked at him. He looked back.

Sundown broke the silence. "Either you'll all in or you're not."

"Fine, I'm all in," Hollywood said, sliding them back.

Chipper blew a ring of smoke at him.

Slider pulled another card out of the deck and slapped it down on the middle of the table.

It was a seven.

"Fuck," Hollywood muttered. He folded his arms and looked at the ceiling.

"Ice, you calling Wood?"

Ice looked at the pile of chips on the table. He had quite a bit more of them than Hollywood, and what was his all in would barely dent Iceman's pile.

"Yeah," Iceman said.

"Uh," Chipper said, looking at his cards again. He cleared his throat. "Fold."

"I fold too," said Sundown, who did everything Chipper did.

The only two left were Iceman and Hollywood. Slider pulled the river out of the deck.

It was a five.

Hollywood swore aloud and tossed his cards into the middle. Iceman slid his forward.

"Two sevens?" Slider said, grinning. "Tom's got four of a kind, and Hollywood's got one pair."

The chips were slid back toward Ice.

Iceman smirked at Hollywood. "_One_ queen?"

"It looked better in the flop," Hollywood grumbled.

"Deal 'em, Slider," Wolfman barked, waving his ridiculous cigar emphatically. He was in some little tiff with Hollywood and presently had no patience for him.

Slider glanced at Iceman and they shared a smirk.

* * *

"It's okay, Maverick."

"No, it's not," Maverick muttered.

"Really, it is," Charlie insisted.

"That's never happened to me before, I swear to God --"

"It happens to every guy once in a while. Maybe you're tired. Or you have a cold."

"Maybe," Maverick said morosely, staring into space.

"Maverick," Charlie sighed, "please don't get upset about it. We can try again," she said, nuzzling his neck with her nose.

"No," Maverick muttered, standing up and pulling his jacket on. "I have to go, anyway."

"Okay," Charlie said a bit too quickly.

He tossed the unused condom into the trash on his way out.

It was a bright day outside, garishly so, and Maverick slid on his sunglasses as he adjusted to it.

He drove around for a bit, enjoying the sun on his face and the growling machine between his legs.

Bar, he decided. Bar would be good.

He roared off to grab Goose.

* * *

Iceman saw him come in.

Vaguely, out of the corner of his eye. The small-ish figure and dark hair stood out to him from where he stood with Slider and Wolfman.

"He's just been so irritating lately," Wolfman complained. "And we're so far behind, he's so obsessed with getting laid he doesn't remember how to drive a car, let alone fly a plane --"

Slider nodded with faux-sympathy.

Iceman's eyes followed Maverick across the bar, barely listening to a word Wolf was saying.

"How'd you like to get into _those_ tight pants?" Slider whispered to him.

Iceman jumped about a foot in the air and spluttered incoherently. Then he realized Slider was gesturing at a pretty, waif-ish blonde a few feet away.

"Oh, uh, yeah," Iceman muttered, "I'd like to... bend her over a table or something." He took a hurried sip of his vodka tonic.

"It's like he doesn't even _listen_ to me anymore," Wolfman whined in his Southern drawl. "He's being such a _dick_."

"Punch him in the face," Slider suggested.

Maverick finally caught Iceman's eye. He turned bright red and looked down, then looked at Goose as if suddenly captivated by whatever he was saying.

"Ice, you all right?" Slider said dubiously.

Iceman shook his head. "I think I'm going to go home," he announced. "Watch some porn, go to bed, you know..."

He stalked away from the two of them, sliding his sunglasses on.

"Hey," Wolfman said.

Maverick and Goose looked up.

"Yes, ma'am?" Goose replied.

"Fuck you," replied Wolfman. "We do a poker game sometimes when we get bored of volleyball. I've got a table in my basement. You two should come."

He began to walk away.

"Wait," Maverick called. "Is... Kazansky gonna be there?"

"Yeah, he'll be there, cleaning everyone and their grandmother out," Wolfman said blithely, disappearing into the crowd.

"Odd question, Mav," Goose remarked. "This got something to do with... ?"

He made a triangle with his fingers. Maverick raised an eyebrow at him.

"What does that mean? I don't get it."

Goose chuckled and patted him on the arm. "Don't worry your pretty head about it," he said.

Maverick laughed with him, knowing it was in good humor, his gaze slipping over to the other side of the bar.

Namely, the empty spot beside Slider.

* * *

Iceman was tense when he arrived at Hollywood's.

He had been trying to jerk off the last few nights in a row to absolutely no avail. The only time it hadn't been futile was when he had let his thoughts wander a little too far over the border in his mind, leaving the hetero-normative behind and seeping into the part he kept under lock and key all day, every day.

The part that, having no other outlet, flung itself viciously into his dreams, and left him shaking and sweating in the middle of the night, rocking with shamefully good orgasms.

"Hey," Slider beckoned him in. "You look bad."

"I know," Iceman said stiffly. He, personally, had thought it impossible, but the severe dark circles and perpetually pissed-off expression (different from his trademark scowl) were anything but flattering.

"I was hoping you wouldn't show up so I could actually win a hand or two, Kazansky," Wolfman said, handing him an IC Light with one hand and all but shoving him down the stairs to the basement with the other.

Iceman grumbled something unintelligible in response.

It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

When they finally did, he had to blink several times to make sure of what he was seeing.

"Mitchell?"

The boyishly handsome face that haunted his dreams smirked unctuously up at him from the poker table. "Afternoon, Kazansky."

Hollywood clapped his hands. "Everybody sit your asses down, Mother Goose is dealing, it's Texas Hold 'Em for those of you who didn't know, namely Maverick."

Iceman composed himself and sat down, realizing at the last second that he was right across from Maverick.

He ran a hand through his frosted hair, pretending to be fascinated by his cards. He felt Maverick's gaze all over his face. His sweat glands prickled.

"Flop," Goose called. "One shitty card, one good one, I think, and another shitty one."

"He means," Wolfman grunted, "a two of spades, an ace of spades, and a four of hearts."

"I'm all in," Maverick blurted out.

Everyone turned and stared at him.

"Ballsy," Hollywood said with a vague kind of admiration in his voice.

"Can you even do that this early?" Wolfman demanded.

"Wolf, you're so anal," Chipper said, laughing.

"I'll show _you_ anal, pretty-boy."

"That might just be the gayest thing you've ever said," Hollywood said.

A laugh rose up and the tension was broken. Maverick and Iceman looked up at each other at the exact same time. Iceman's chest seemed to clench in a hot vise. He looked down again.

"Fuck, I'll fold," Slider said, tossing his cards down.

Hollywood looked at Iceman curiously.

"I'll call," Iceman said quietly.

It went down the line, and everyone folded except for the two of them and Wolfman, who seemed to be hellbent on proving to Hollywood he could be ballsy too.

The turn was a king of diamonds. Iceman was holding king, eight. A little bit of anticipation thrilled in his stomach, but he kept his face steady.

"It's getting hot in here," Chipper commented.

"Yeah, Hollywood's AC is fucked up," Slider said.

"That was a simile, Slider, fuck, didn't you go to college?"

"That wasn't a simile," Iceman said shortly. "It wasn't even a metaphor. It was a figurative statement. Call."

"Well, I'm out," Wolfman said, taking a large swig of beer.

"Just these two, then," Hollywood said.

Everyone was watching them intently.

Iceman fiddled with one of his chips, twirling it in his finger a little. He exchanged a heated glance with Maverick.

"River," Goose called out. "Jack of spades."

Maverick smiled at Iceman cockily. It was unnerving. Iceman looked down.

"Cards up," Hollywood said.

Iceman turned his over. Maverick followed suit.

"Eight, six?" Hollywood said. "Shit, Pete, that's not even a pair."

"Actually, I've got two spades," Maverick said. "That's a flush."

"Iceman lost?" Wolfman said, laughing loudly. "This is unprecedented. It's surely the apocalypse."

Iceman's right index finger twitched. "I guess we all have to lose sometime," he said, making a very strong effort to be gracious, even though bile was rising in his throat.

"How did you know?" Slider said, glancing at Maverick's cards.

"I didn't," Maverick murmured, looking straight at Iceman again. He was burning a hole straight through Iceman's face.

Ice stood up.

"I need some air," he said quickly. "You really need to get your AC fixed," he tossed out to Hollywood by way of explanation, and sauntered up the stairs.

Iceman broke into a brisk walk as soon as he was out of sight, and shoved the screen door out of the way with viciousness.

Outside, at least, he no longer felt like he was being strangled by a dirty sock. Iceman breathed in lungfuls of fresh air, clutching the railing of Hollywood's porch white-knuckled.

"You've been acting a little weird."

Iceman wheeled around to find Hollywood slipping through the front door. He hadn't even heard him approach.

"I guess," Iceman muttered, turning back around, facing the breeze coming off the ocean.

"What's up, man?" Hollywood said, folding his arms and leaning on the railing next to Ice.

"I don't know," Iceman said reflexively.

"Bullshit."

Iceman was silent for a minute.

"I wouldn't bother you about it except you're the only one of us who never manstruates," Hollywood said, "and you're freaking me out, you know?"

Iceman nodded.

"It's just," he finally said, "I feel like I'm missing something. Like there's some big picture we can't even see. I'm doing something wrong, something glaringly wrong, and I don't know what it is. It... it pisses me off."

Hollywood laughed. "Sounds like you need to get laid."

Iceman laughed feebly. "Maybe."

"Come with us tomorrow night," Hollywood said. "We'll go on the prowl. 'Cause there's nothing to get you out of your own head like good booze and a good lay."

He disappeared back into the house and Iceman looked toward the ocean.

"Give me a sign," he muttered. He hadn't believed in God since his brother had died, but he felt like if there was a time to ask, it was now.

A piece of paper scuttled by on the street, carried on the breeze. He looked around and walked toward it warily, feeling like an idiot.

Iceman picked it up.

It was a note to Maverick from Charlie. There was a kiss on it outlined in garish red lipstick. It must have blown out of Mitchell's pocket.

Iceman crumpled it in his hand and looked skyward. "Nice sign," he said drily.

* * *

The girl he picked up, her name was Melanie.

Her hair was a pretty reddish color. There was a word for the exact shade, but he had forgotten over the years.

She had nice tits. They were on the small side and bounced when she giggled at Iceman's humor, which she did frequently.

"Your house is _so_ neat," she remarked when she first stepped inside.

Her name was Melanie, and Iceman hated her.

He hated her because she was vaguely but not forthrightly annoying, and because she was a natural brunette and admitted so readily, he hated her because she was bright and lively and cheerful and he needed just the opposite.

He hated himself because when he came inside her he screamed _Maverick _so loudly his throat burned.

They panted in tandem for a few minutes, and suddenly she moaned, climaxing underneath him. Iceman rolled off to the side.

He stared up at the dark ceiling, his stomach writhing.

"Maybe I should go," Melanie muttered drunkenly.

"I'll call you a cab," Iceman said immediately.

"I'll call one of my friends," she said, stumbling into the bathroom to dress.

"Fuck," he said out loud when the door closed behind her.

Iceman refused to think about what had just happened. He clutched a pillow to his stomach and waited for her to finish, reciting the times tables in his head.

He was on six times eight when she opened the door.

"I'll just use your phone," Melanie said flatly, disappearing from the room.

Iceman didn't say anything. He didn't trust his own voice. It was had already betrayed him tonight, in the sickest way possible.

When he walked out into the living room, she was hanging up the phone.

"She said she could get me in ten minutes if I waited at the bus stop," Melanie said. "Bye, Tom."

"Good night," Iceman said hoarsely.

And she was gone.

* * *

Iceman was being even more of a dick to him than usual.

Maverick wasn't entirely sure why. Well, fuck _entirely_, he was one hundred percent clueless.

It started on the early morning hop they had, when Ice had blocked his shot and forced him into an insanely bad position. He had even heard _Slider_ screaming at Iceman over the comm. Afterward Maverick had confronted him in the hallway and Iceman had completely shut down and stormed off silently, leaving Maverick to fume and kick a few lockers, and now his foot hurt.

Charlie told him he was being melodramatic and that it was a competition and what Iceman had done was nothing Maverick wouldn't or hadn't done himself, several hundred times over.

"But I'm _allowed_," he defended himself.

"Why is that?"

"Because I'm..._ Maverick_!"

"Uh-huh," Charlie muttered, looking over the papers she had on her clipboard.

Maverick spluttered at her.

"I'm sorry, I'm just very busy at the moment," she said. "Couldn't you talk to Goose?"

"No!"

And that was that, apparently.

Maverick had been pretending not to notice Charlie distancing herself from him. At least, he had been trying, but it had become so obvious lately he didn't know what to do.

He heard she was looking for a job somewhere else, and this thing was mostly casual anyway, but he couldn't bring himself to detach. He felt so out of sorts sometimes at the academy, mistrusted by everyone.

Maverick _needed_ her. Not _her _specifically, but an ally, someone other than Goose.

But what could he do? He was on the outside, looking in.

That was the story of his life.

* * *

Iceman hated impulse.

To him, it was vestigial. Everything but the most base instinct was obsolete in today's society.

He tried to remove it from his life as much as possible.

To him, Maverick was all impulse. He thought with his dick, flew by the seat of his pants, and said whatever came into his head.

Iceman hated it. In his mind, it took _real_ balls to control yourself, to do your duty, not whatever the fuck you wanted.

Every time he looked at Maverick, he tried force that thought into the open. But regardless, his palms would become slick with sweat and he would tend to drop whatever he was holding.

And his stomach hurt. Stomachaches became so frequent that he went to the doctor on base to ask if he was developing an _ulcer,_ for Christ's sake, but the doctor had told him he was absolutely fine and given him some over-the-counter pain meds.

They did nothing, of course.

The doctor had also told him he showed signs of borderline obsessive compulsive disorder.

Iceman had barely been able to bite back a suggestion of where the doctor might shove it, but later he thought if you dropped "compulsive", he might have a point.

* * *

"Ice!"

Iceman looked up to see Slider waving a hand in front of face.

"What?" he replied.

"You've been staring into space for the last..." Slider looked at his watch. "Ten minutes. The locker room's empty. I was just about to leave."

"Oh."

"See you tomorrow, man," Slider said, slipping away.

Iceman rubbed his hands together.

_Relax_, he told himself, closing his eyes.

"That was fantastic, though, Mav, I barely saw him coming and you were totally on the ball."

Iceman opened his eyes to see Goose and Maverick arriving in the locker room, conversing at an obnoxious decibel. Maverick noticed Ice and shut up. Goose followed suit.

"What?" Iceman said quietly.

"Nothing," Maverick said. "We thought we were the only ones left, is all, Kazansky." He seemed about to add something and stopped himself.

Goose changed much faster than Maverick and practically ran out of the room like Iceman was going to murder him with his bare hands if he lingered. Maverick, however, took his sweet time, wriggling out of the flight suit and pulling his shirt off as slowly as possible. He pulled up his jeans even slower, like he was in some freaking shampoo commercial, the ones where the women appear to be moving in slow motion.

Iceman hated shampoo commercials.

He wondered if Maverick even knew what he was doing, pulling his jeans up over his ass in a way that made Iceman's chest ache. He must, he must be having his own private power trip. Maverick was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid.

And lately, Iceman had been far from discreet.

"Kazansky," Maverick said as he pulled on a plain white shirt, back muscles rippling like fish under the surface of a pond in winter, one that's iced over since late November but still boasts life.

"Yes," Iceman said shortly.

"I asked you what your problem was with me and you didn't really give me an answer."

"That was weeks ago."

"And now you're being more of an asshole than usual."

"You must be heartbroken, Mitchell."

Maverick turned and looked at him, surprised. Maybe he was expecting Iceman to act out, say something he shouldn't, but Iceman had replied with measured calm.

"I was just wondering why," Maverick said, pulling his jacket on.

Iceman stood up. He liked employing the height advantage on Maverick, liked to see his green eyes open a little wider, taking in the four inches Ice had on him.

"Did you know I'd be here?"

"No," Maverick said. "I didn't."

"You bluffed."

"I guessed," Maverick replied.

They were horribly close now. It was like being one half of a car accident, seeing the other vehicle before you collided with it, knowing you would and only being able to wait.

Their lips met, and there was a moment unbroken by time where they stayed together, the smell of male sweat mingling around them.

They pulled apart almost instantly.

Maverick mumbled something, grabbed his stuff and stumbled out of the locker room.

Iceman stood paralyzed, every inch of his body screaming for more contact while his brain screamed _no_ as loudly as it could in response.

* * *

"Have sex with me."

Charlie looked up. "Huh?"

"Have sex with me, right now, I don't care where we do it."

"Maverick!" She dropped her voice. "I'm at _work_ here!"

"Fine, when we go home. I'll come over to your place. Come on, Charlie, what's the problem?"

"I don't know, are you sure you're even _up_ for it?" she said icily.

Maverick jerked away from her desk.

"I can't believe you'd say that," he hissed.

"Maverick, I'm sorry," she said, and Maverick's heart twisted a little because she _did_ look sincere. "I'm just so stressed out right now... Can we talk later?"

"I feel like we've barely even seen each other lately, is all," he said, doing his best to keep the resentment out of his voice.

"It's life, Maverick, it happens."

"People grow apart or people don't see each other?"

She bit her lip. "Both."

* * *

Iceman had fallen in love with the multiplication tables in second grade.

They never changed. They were exact. They were never emotional, they never made his chest twist, and they never dropped dead of metastatic cancer at age fifteen the way his brother had.

They never lied. They couldn't lie. They were a group of facts.

"I _am_ a son of a bitch," he said aloud.

Slider looked askance at him. "What?"

"Nothing."

* * *

"You going to the poker game?"

"Who's going to be there?" Ice said.

Hollywood made a vague hand gesture. "The usual suspects, I guess."

"Mitchell?" Iceman said bluntly.

"If he wants, sure, doesn't matter to me."

Iceman weighed his options carefully. He could _not_ go, which would be a cop-out and tip Maverick off to the fact that he actually gave a shit, or he could go and run the risk of something he didn't want to happen happening. Chances were Maverick wouldn't show up in the first place, because he'd been going out of his way to avoid Iceman all week and he was a cop-out kind of guy, but he was also self-righteous enough to show up anyway.

"I'll go."

"Good," Hollywood said, smacking him on the shoulder in a friendly way and hurrying off to find Wolfman.

Really, either way he was fucked.

* * *

Wolfman was the one to greet him this time, a little tiredly, with a pissed-off expression on his face. Slider whispered in Iceman's ear as he entered the basement that Hollywood and Wolfman had nearly beaten the shit out of each other ten minutes earlier and Slider himself had pulled them apart in the nick of time. Iceman wasn't sorry he missed it.

Maverick was there, of course. He avoided Ice's gaze expertly for the first fifteen minutes, after both of them had sat down as far away from each other as they could, after a few hands had been dealt.

Iceman reciprocated, looking anywhere but into those long-lashed green eyes.

He spent a lot of time staring at his own lap.

"Nice hand, Mother Goose," Hollywood commented after Goose had managed to win for once.

"I keep telling you boys, I should have been a professional poker player," Goose said with a grin.

Maverick chuckled idly to himself and looked up, his eyes flickering across Iceman's lips for a moment. He broke the gaze as soon as it had begun, looking at some unseen thing over Slider's left shoulder.

Iceman felt indefinably threatened. He had always seen his lips as the most vulnerable part of his body, their lush femininity a sharp contrast against the hard veneer that was the rest of his body.

And now they had betrayed him twice.

"Ice, you bastard," Chipper cried good-naturedly after Iceman had won another hand. "I'm out of the game, then."

"You don't want to buy back in?" Hollywood asked him.

"No, I'll just watch."

Wolfman dealt, giving a sideways look to Hollywood that he openly ignored.

King, ace.

Iceman smiled to himself.

"You all might want to fold now and get it over with," Maverick said.

"Getting a bit cocky, are we, Mitchell?" said Wolfman.

Ice snorted dismissively.

"Hey-ho, Kazansky, you got a problem over there?" Hollywood said, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm just peachy," Iceman said brusquely.

"Uh-huh," Hollywood said disbelievingly.

"Leave him alone," Wolfman said, sounding irritated.

"Flop is ace of diamonds, two of clubs, two of hearts," Goose interrupted.

Maverick's smug look faltered.

"I bet twenty," Iceman said quietly.

"I'll fold," Slider said, throwing his cards down.

"I'll call," Maverick said.

"Call," Wolfman grumbled.

Sundown didn't even bother saying he was folding, just pushed his cards to the side.

The turn was a queen of spades.

Iceman's gaze flickered to Maverick for a split second. Maverick met his eyes steadily.

Something passed between them at that moment, an understanding.

I lose.

You win.

"I'm all in," Iceman said.

Maverick bit his lip. "I'll call that."

"This is too rich for my blood," Wolfman said. "Fold." He set his cards aside and wandered upstairs.

River was ace of spades.

Iceman took a deep breath and drummed his fingers on the table.

"Let's see what you have, boys," Hollywood said eagerly.

"Hey, everyone," Wolfman called down the stairs, "there's some naked chick on TV."

Everyone looked at each other.

"Okay, pause, I've got to see that," Hollywood said, getting up. Chipper, Sundown and Slider followed suit.

Maverick didn't move a muscle. Neither did Ice.

"What's your hand?" Maverick said flatly once everyone was out of earshot.

"What's yours?"

"You've been ignoring me," Maverick said.

"Nice segue."

"Charlie broke up with me."

Iceman hadn't expected that. He was silent for a moment. "Why?"

"Things."

"Things like _what_?" Iceman said, dropping his cards to the table and rubbing his temples.

"Ace, nice," Maverick said. "So I did lose. Shit."

He stood up and approached Iceman, sat on the poker table in front of him, folded his arms.

"Fuck," Iceman muttered. "I don't want to do this anymore. I'm tired of micromanaging myself all the time so I don't do something I'll regret."

"How do you know you'll regret it?" Maverick said quietly, not looking at Ice.

"I won't. That's what I'm afraid of."

"I think you really w_ant_ to," Maverick said, "and that's what you're afraid of."

There was a lump in Ice's throat. "Don't tell me how I feel, Mitchell," he choked out.

"I'm not," Maverick said. "I'm telling you how _I_ feel."

He slipped off of the poker table and pushed Iceman's chair back, standing directly in front of him.

"Since when?" Ice demanded.

"Since I _met_ you, you obtuse fuck," Maverick snapped, and leaned forward, steadying himself with one hand on Ice's thigh.

They looked at each other intently for a moment.

Iceman leaned forward and kissed Maverick deeply on the lips, gently at first, and then with increasing intensity. Maverick's other arm was around his neck, and Iceman's arm was on Maverick's ass, his chest pounding and head swimming with barely restrained emotion.

Iceman's tongue probed Maverick's, filling as much of Maverick's mouth as he could, creating a sort of rhythm they could both work from.

"Shit," Maverick said, pulling away for a moment and then kissing Iceman again, over and over, "you're good at this."

Iceman's lips moved from Maverick's mouth along his jaw, then against his neck, tracing the medium between pain and pleasure.

Maverick buried his face in Iceman's shoulder, leaning forward to kneel between Iceman's legs.

Iceman kissed him one last time on the neck and then pulled Maverick into his arms.

"Uh."

It was Wolfman's voice, traveling down the staircase.

"You done down there yet, Maverick?"

"Another minute," Maverick called to him.

He heard the basement door close.

"Wolf was _in on _this?" Iceman said, looking at Maverick.

"Sort of," Maverick said, grinning sheepishly. "I needed to get them out of the basement _somehow_... I knew you weren't going to talk to me otherwise."

"Fuck, Mitchell," Iceman said. 'You're more diabolical than you look."

"Mm-hm," Maverick said, kissing Iceman on the forehead. He climbed out of Iceman's lap and stood up. "You might want to, uh, throw a jacket over that or something," he said, gesturing at Iceman's lap.

Iceman rolled his eyes. "Like you have any room to talk."

"Why do you think I carry a jacket everywhere I go in _San Diego_?"

"Point taken."

"Okay, that was bullshit," Hollywood said, as he tromped down the stairs. "You didn't tell me it was a news story on chicks who breastfeed in public, Wolf, that's just sick."

"I don't know, it was kind of..." Slider broke off. "Never mind."

"Slider, you weirdo," Sundown said.

"I wasn't the one who wanted to keep watching!"

"Can we get back to the game now?" Wolfman said impatiently. When everyone had turned their attention back to the poker table, Iceman saw him turn to Maverick, who mouthed "thanks".

"So who won last round?" Hollywood said, looking at Iceman. "It was you, right?"

"Actually, I think it was Maverick," Iceman said, looking across the table at him.

Everyone turned and looked at him.

"Well, Kazansky's finally lost it," Chipper commented.

Maverick smirked at him from across the table.

And Iceman smirked back.

"What are we doing now?"

Maverick was sitting on his motorcycle, foot already grinding against the accelerator in anticipation.

"I don't know," replied Iceman. "I was hoping you could tell me."

Maverick looked off into the distance. "Maybe we'll just take it as it comes."

"Maybe," Iceman said warily. He didn't like not having a plan.

"Calm down, Kazansky, all's well that ends well."

Iceman chuckled.

"See? You're not the only one who knows Shakespeare," Maverick said.

"Get your ass out of here, Mitchell," Iceman said, waving him off with a flick of the wrist.

"Please," Maverick said. "You love my ass."

He roared off into the distance.

Iceman looked off into the sky, where the sunset was bleeding sharp, warm colors into cool blue.

"Maybe," he repeated.


End file.
